My dad was a high school educator who ultimately retired as a principal. His favorite thing was coaching the track team. Five athletes that he coached made the U.S. Olympic team. He organized a track meet, The National Record Relays, that featured the top competitors in southern California. It was a pretty big deal. On the Saturday the week after the track meet he would host a party for about fifty people at our home that began in the afternoon and continued on into the night. Food would abound and drinks would flow.
At the far end of the den in the back of the house was a bar. In the cabinet below the bar were bar supplies and adult gags including paper Mache dog doo, plastic puke, and a poo poo cushion. I got these items and hid them in my room before the party.
Tommy, nine, and I, twelve, had a good time figuring out how to use these fun filled frivolities. We would also employ a trick my dad pulled on my aunt when she had recently gotten married, saran wrap over the toilet. We agreed that it would be best to wait until well into the evening when a sufficient number of guests had gotten liquored up.
The party commenced around two in the afternoon and it was eat, drink, and be merry with a lot of all three. By around eight the witching hour commenced and nobody was really paying any attention to us. We decided to put the paper Mache dog doo on the toilet seat in the back bathroom off of the den. The plastic puke was put on the floor of the main bathroom as was the saran wrap on the toilet. The poo poo cushion was slipped under a cushion on the couch. We stayed in my brother’s room with the light off to watch as it was directly across from the main bathroom and within eight feet of the couch.
Within two minutes some guy came to use the bathroom, saw the puke, turned around and left. A couple of minutes later this woman showed up to use the facilities. We had remembered her from previous parties as she was very loud, couldn’t hold her liquor and drank to excess. She saw it and she left. My mother quickly arrived on the scene with a disgusted look on her face. When she went to pick it up with a dish towel, she got the most curious quizzical expression on her face in an instant of confusion before figuring out it wasn’t real. She picked it up and we never saw it again. Miraculously, bless her Edith Bunker soul, it never occurred to her that we were the jokers.
Shortly thereafter, the drunk woman returned, entered the bathroom and closed the door. We heard a shriek and “God Damn it!” We went into Tommy’s closet to giggle. After a couple of minutes I went in there and the saran wrap was gone. She had apparently cleaned up her mess too.
We decided to come out of his room to get something to eat. We got some chips, dip, finger sandwiches, and cocktail wienies with barbecue sauce, and proceeded to sit on the couch to munch. We couldn’t believe that nobody had set off the poo poo cushion, but that was about to change. Out from the kitchen came, guess who, the drunk woman. She said right down on our booby trap and it ripped off long and loud. “EEEEK!!” She jumped up and spilled her plate of food on herself. The cherry on top of the sundae was a cocktail wienie sticking out of her cleavage. We were howling and some others were also chuckling. My dad came in, lifted the couch cushion, removed the poo poo cushion and told us to go to bed.
Tommy never needed an alarm clock as he was always an early riser. On the weekend he would be up before dawn parked in front of the TV in the den watching it, even if it was only the test pattern or the farm report. I got up around seven the next morning and went to get some cereal. On my way to the kitchen I stopped dead in my tracks. In the middle of the living room floor, Tommy laid motionless. I touched him and shook him. He was not responsive.
My parents made it clear that we were not to wake them up. But I figured this was a good reason. I scurried to their room and knocked on the door. I heard some grumbling and my mom say, “What?” “Mom, I think Tommy’s dead.” She let out a shrieking gasp and rushed out of the bedroom. I think she figured out that he wasn’t dead and what happened as her expression changed from horror to disgust. She shook him brusquely. He moaned then barfed, he was drunk. It would turn out that he had been going around and helping himself to unfinished beers and drinks from the night before.
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